Page 90 of Their Stolen Obsession

“Hello, I’m Dr. Stevens.” A young fuck with glasses walked in.

Immediately, I stood up and wanted to display my power like a mammal protecting its clan, but this spring chicken was laughable. Stevens was old enough to be my damn son if I had one. No way would I take orders from this Gen Z.

I lightheartedly chuckled. “Listen, kid, I think you’re too young to take on our case.”

“No, I’m not. I have all the credentials needed.” Dr. Stevens pointed to his many diplomas littering the walls. “Are you Mr. Cruz or Mr. Sullivan?”

“Cruz…” I shook his hand with a tight grip.

Saint crossed his arms in front of his chest. “That paperwork has got to be forged.”

“Smart, Mr. Sullivan, but they aren’t.” He took off his glasses and pointed at my best friend. “I see I have some skeptical patients, but I want to know how I can help you. Please gentlemen, have a seat.”

We didn’t listen, and Saint glanced at me.

“We’d prefer to stand,” Saint grumbled as he locked eyes on the shrink.

“Very well.” Dr. Stevens took a seat on a leather chair.

I clenched my hands at my sides while Saint kept his tucked away, and I bet he wanted to quiz this Gen Z on his qualifications, but we knew jack shit about the brain. Instead, we understood how to make the organ die in one too many ways, and this was our only advantage. To torture him for all the information he had, but that method would only produce cops with a search warrant, and we weren’t here for trouble.

Well, maybe a little. If this youngster didn’t help and only stood in our way for a resolution to our problem. Liv.

“Dr. Stevens, can I call you shrink?” I stared down at the doctor.

“I’d prefer Stevens, but this is your session, and you have the floor, Mr. Cruz.” The doctor huffed on the lens of his glasses and wiped them off. “We have less than a half an hour.”

Dr. Stevens placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and acted all professional. Too pristine, and I wanted to punch his face in and make him bleed. But we had less than thirty minutes to solve our little obsession’s dilemma.

“You see, shrink, we aren’t here for ourselves…” I sat down on the couch, but kept my eyes on him. “We’re here for someone else.”

“Who?” Dr. Stevens raised an eyebrow.

“Our little obsession,” Saint answered.

Our shrink asked, “And what might this obsession’s name be?”

“Her name is Liv,” I replied with my head tilted and my jaw clenched tight. “She went through something traumatic…”

My voice trailed off. I was unsure of how much I should confess because we wanted this matter to remain private. No one else should come into this goddamn mess since no one came back out. Once one was in the thick, dark smog, that person was trapped, and they’d never make it out.

“Something goddamn life changing,” Saint added.

I asked, “Does everything we tell you stay within these four walls?”

Dr. Stevens nodded his head. “Yes. Anything you tell me remains private.”

“Someone kidnapped Liv. We’d prefer not to go into details of how, when, or where, but she was in captivity for weeks. Alone. Fighting for her life with her body eating away at her,” Saint admitted while my heart sank, and I was a failure all over again. “While she was there, a fucking dog bit her, scared her, and we don’t know how to fix her.”

I put my pride aside. “We need your help.”

“What are your occupations?” the shrink asked.

I answered, “We’re both retired veterans who served for years in the armed forces.”

“We’re best friends who own a nightclub together,” Saint added.

Dr. Stevens jotted down some notes and glanced up from his notepad. “How old is Liv?”